


yeah he's fuckin crazy (but he's still my baby)

by waitforhightide



Series: The Real Unholy Trinity [4]
Category: Original Work, The Real Unholy Trinity - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Desperation, Desperation Play, Light BDSM, M/M, Magic as Clean-Up, Mildly Dubious Consent, Omorashi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Rope Bondage, Threesome - M/M/M, Watersports, Wetting, apocalypse boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 00:43:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16398188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitforhightide/pseuds/waitforhightide
Summary: Tied to the bed frame, Micah squirmed at the old memory of the pressure abating as he spilled piss into his pajamas. The occasional twinges had progressed to a rather consistent pressure in his abdomen, and his hard-on had returned, which was… very strange… but at least it helped ensure he wouldn’t doze off and have some repeat broken-toilet bullshit dream.Christ, when were Jules and Lucian coming home?





	yeah he's fuckin crazy (but he's still my baby)

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE HEED THE TAGS. This is not an omocute story. It is very sexual. You've been warned.
> 
> The mild dubcon is that Micah is desperate to piss and tied to a bed and he didn't ask to be there. There's also some power-play and he protests. But he's okay with it, I promise.
> 
> Unbet'd. Listen, Cactus and Cryptic had _absolutely nothing to do with this piece._ I stole their boys and forced them into this. It was all me. 
> 
> Title from ["Baby"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_Mz7iUxdqg) by Bishop Briggs

Micah came to in his attic bedroom in the Ohio house, confused. He could see dim light through his eyelids—probably his desk lamp—but he felt like maybe, if he rolled over, he could go back to sl— 

Something pulled at his wrist as he tried to roll onto his side. 

Fuck.

He knew what this was, knew who was responsible, and immediately felt a flush of shame, guilt, and pleasure roll through him at once.  _ Fuck, Lucian, _ he thought, and  _ there _ was a thought that brought his cock twitching to life against his hip bone. Well, that and the familiar feeling of his black hemp rope pressing into his wrist.

Of course Jules told Luc. Of  _ course _ nothing was safe in this goddamn house, not even a novelty that Micah kept wrapped in an old pair of pajama pants in his duffel bag, mostly for curiosity’s sake. Micah had never even  _ used _ the ropes! Well, maybe a few times, but only to tie his wrists together half-heartedly; there’s only so much one can do with one hand. 

Now here he was, naked and tied to his stupid twin bed in his bedroom with his own ropes and no idea how he’d gotten there, except that it was probably Luc.  _ Or Lucifer, _ he thought before he could stop himself, and so what if that thought made another shiver roll through him?

As much as his mind wanted to run wild imagining Luc or Jules—or Luc  _ and _ Jules—coming in to tease him, to touch him and make him beg, he knew he was probably tied up for purpose’s sake. He couldn’t remember anything after dinner Wednesday night, so he assumed he’d had one of his wild, violent visions and that the Magic Duo was off to do Magic Duo things without him. He was annoyed, but not feeling super upset. As long as he could sit up— 

The hemp bit into his ankles pleasantly, and Micah cursed. Suddenly, the situation seemed a lot less fun and a lot more horror movie. Images from that one Stephen King movie flashed in his head, where the hot young wife is tied to the bed and the husband dies of a heart attack. He’d watched it on Netflix on a bus once, but he was pretty sure it involved her breaking her own hands and running naked down a road. 

A loud buzz interrupted his morbid train of thought, and he recognized it as his phone a second before he heard Jules’s voice coming from somewhere on the floor.

“ _ Hey _ , Mickey Mouse, I recorded this as your ringtone and I’m probs calling you. I know we left you in a weird spot but you were going kinda wild. We’ll be back by midnight and this ringtone is gonna cut me off but you’re gonna be f—”

_ Fine, _ Jules was going to say  _ fine. _ He hoped. Well, at least someone knew he was there. Micah had no way to tell what time it was without access to his phone, but the time left couldn’t be more than 12 hours—the sunlight was already filtering through the western window. He could do anything for twelve hours.

 

. . .

 

So he may have misjudged things slightly. His stomach had begun growling a few hours previously, but that wasn’t new after living with his family. His mouth was dry, but no worse than smoking too much pot. Once he’d felt those things, and focused on keeping his muscles loose to avoid cramps, he figured he’d gotten his bodily functions under control, and his biggest issue would be boredom. Now, as the sun set, Micah was forced to reexamine things slightly.

The biggest problem was almost definitely going to be his bladder.

He hadn’t noticed the pressure at first because he was still lying down, and he was comfortable enough to doze off every so often. Then, he had been more distracted by his cock, which was hard and hot on his stomach after a jumbled dream featuring Lucian, the ropes, and a flogger. But his hard-on had faded eventually, and after it had, he’d been faced with some insistent twinges from behind it. 

He tried not to think too much about it, but his body, deprived of its ability to adjust, stretch, and move, didn’t seem willing to let another slight slide. 

Piss was not a thing Micah tended to think about in his life. When he had to go, he found a bathroom—or sometimes a tree—and went. The few times he had to pee while on a bus or in a movie, he just rode it out until he had a chance to find a bathroom. Really, it never registered with him as a problem, and he thought perhaps the last time he’d been well and truly desperate was probably sometime before the fourth grade. Despite himself, his bored and under-stimulated brain began trying to catalogue all his major childhood pee accidents.

He remembered vaguely pissing in a bathtub a few times, although those memories were blurry enough that he assumed it had gone unnoticed by his mother. There was a memory of running up the hill from the back yard, shouting something about changing clothes to his neighborhood friends—had he made it to a bathroom? He thought he had, but also that he may have had to change underwear because of the wet spots on his briefs. He did remember pissing himself when he’d been sick one time, standing on the threshold of the bathroom with his feet still firmly on the carpeted hallway, his thighs clamped together and hand gripping the tip of his dick uselessly as it cascaded down his pajama pants.  _ Fuck, _ he’d almost forgotten that one. He remembered his mother had gone apeshit afterward, but his brain kept replaying the moment the warmth gushed into the fabric around him.

His cock twitched at the same time that his bladder gave an annoyed twinge. 

Well, at least he’d found something to occupy his brain for a while, even if it wasn’t exactly making his bladder feel better.

That sense-memory of wet fabric stuck so persistently in his mind. There was something about piss and pajama pants—  _ Oh. _ Oh, he had forgotten that. 

 

. . .

 

His sophomore year of high school, he came down with a cold bad enough that he’d said  _ fuck it _ to Peter’s no-chemical rule for a few days and popped DayQuil religiously every four hours. For the first couple of days, he’d felt fine; on the night between the second and third, though, the regimen of medication fucked him  _ up. _ He’d stumbled to bed early, barely changing into sleep clothes and not even bothering to turn out the lights, apparently. He had no memory of falling asleep, so maybe that was why the dream took hold of him so strongly: walking down an endless hallway, looking for a bathroom. He found armchairs, wishing wells, kitchen sinks—everything except what he needed. Finally, one of the rooms in the winding hallway revealed a toilet. He yanked his pants down, yanked the toilet seat—and found it wouldn’t open.

Something about that resolute refusal to open was dream-Micah’s undoing, and the part of the dream he would remember most vividly was sitting down on the stuck lid, cock resting on the white porcelain as it leaked piss out to drip on the floor and wet his pants—wait, fuck, his  _ pants? _

Micah jolted himself awake, and the panicked clench of his muscles didn’t help him stop the hot, wet flow into his flannel pants. It continued for a second or two before his sleep-muddled, drug-soaked brain caught on and he clamped the muscles in his pelvis and scrambled to hold his cock before it got any worse. 

There was a hand-sized wet spot across his fly, and the disturbingly warm wetness continued between his thighs to another moderate spot on his sheets.

Jesus Christ, had he just  _ wet the bed? _

He’d stripped the sheets and peeled his flannels from his legs for a late-night load of laundry. His mother wouldn’t be pleased that he was awake so late, but at least she’d think he was being productive. He changed his sheets and went back to sleep, still sniffly and in a NyQuil haze, but he remembered not making eye contact with anybody the next day, lest they find out what he’d done.

 

. . .

 

Presently, tied to the bed frame in Ohio, Micah squirmed at the memory of the pressure abating as he spilled piss into his pajamas. The occasional twinges had progressed to a rather consistent pressure in his abdomen, and his hard-on had returned, which was… very strange… but at least it helped ensure he wouldn’t doze off and have some repeat broken-toilet bullshit dream.

Christ, when were Jules and Lucian coming home?

Micah tried his best to doze again, but the stiffness in his muscles and consistent feeling of his heartbeat settled between his hips kept him awake, and all he could do was let his mind wander as he occasionally pulled reflexively and fruitlessly at his bonds.  _ If you had told me six months ago that I’d be pretty not-distressed at being unwillingly tied to the bed by a vessel for Lucifer, I would have willingly gone to the fuckin’ hospital. _ Instead of sleeping, he tried to go over the Corpus Christi plans in his head again. First, infiltrate the church’s online spaces, start talking about the prophecies. Then, once they’d “accidentally” doxxed themselves, the three of them could—

“ _ Hey _ , Mickey Mouse—”

“ _ Jesus!”  _ Jules’s disembodied voice made him jump, and as he startled he lost his grip on his need to piss. Not long, just a moment, but it drew a pained gasp from him as he tried and failed to move his arms and get a grip on his traitor of a dick. 

“—I recorded this as your ringtone and I’m probs calling you. I know we left you in a weird spot—”

He clenched his muscles as hard as he could, toes curling with the effort, hoping against hope that Jules and Lucifer weren’t going to come up the stairs and find him in a puddle of his own piss— 

“—but you were going kinda wild. We’ll be back by midnight and this ringtone is gonna cut me off but you’re gonna be f—”

“ _ God, god, shit, fuck,”  _ Micah hissed between his teeth. There was no way Jules could have known how this stupid situation was going to go, but the irony of him saying Micah would be fine while he was inches from pissing himself seemed like something Jules would truly appreciate. Micah made a mental note never to tell him. He managed to keep from leaking, and he was awesomely glad for it, but there was no avoiding the urges now. The pulse of his bladder between his hips was a constant thrum of low-level pain, and he found himself moving his hips back and forth, hoping the motion would lessen some of the pressure. 

“Where the  _ fuck _ are you assholes?” he groaned to himself. He hoped the phone call was a signal that they were coming home soon.  _ God, _ he had to piss. Fuck.

It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes before Micah heard voices and the sound of the key in the door, but it felt like hours. He’d begun to focus intently on his breathing, trying to keep himself focused, and apparently it had worked, since the only wetness on his stomach was the precome that had been persistently dripping at the head of his cock, still hard but secondary to the ache in his bladder.

“—much he’ll hate us?” That was Luc’s voice, sounding actually concerned for once, which was probably an indicator that Lucifer had gone to parts unknown for the night.

“So you really think he’s capable of hating us? Come  _ on. _ ” And that was Jules.

“If he wasn’t before, he might be now.”

_ God, will you two fucking  _ stop talking _ and come  _ untie me? Micah thought, but he didn’t dare yell out, just in case the effort it took to yell pushed him over some unseen edge. Finally he heard their footsteps on the stairs and their voices drawing closer to his door.

Luc came in first. By the way his mouth dropped open, Micah assumed Lucifer had mostly been in the driver's’ seat when Micah had been tied up that morning. Luc’s face cycled through several emotions, but Micah was too distracted to decipher them.

“What’s the fuckin’ hold up?” Jules asked from behind Luc’s lanky frame. Jules shouldered into the bedroom and also stopped short just over the threshold.

“Take a picture,” Micah said through gritted teeth. “It’ll fuckin’ last longer.”

Jules laughed, but Luc said nothing, still staring at Micah’s naked form, his eyes flicking conspicuously from the flushed line of his cock to the dark stripes of the rope. “Oh,” Luc said.

Micah huffed out a sigh of frustration. “Don’t tell me Lucifer tied some bullshit devil knots or some shit.”

Jules barked another laugh as Luc shook his head. “I—I don’t think so?”

“Good, great. Untie me, assholes, I have to piss like a damn racehorse.”

“Uh, yeah, I, um—”

Jules interrupted Luc’s stammering. “I dunno, Mickey Mouse, you look kind of pretty this way.”  His head was cocked to the side and he looked like he was considering some entirely new possibility that had not occurred to him before.

“Hah. Hah. Now get over here, fucker.”

Luc started forward, but Jules’s hand shot out to grab his shoulder. “No, no, no! I kind of like this, Lukey-boy. Don’t you think we should enjoy the view a little?”

Micah’s bladder, still pulsing steadily, gave another twinge he couldn’t ignore. He bit his lip and tried not to dwell on it.

“What’s wrong, Mickey?” Jules asked, leaving Luc at the door and sitting on the edge of Micah’s bed. 

“I just told you,  _ Julie, _ I gotta piss. Untie me, you ass.”

Jules considered him for a moment and then said, “Nah. I’m not gonna.”

“ _ What?” _

Jules had turned away from him and was now looking at Luc, still frozen in the doorway. “Cat got your tongue, Luci?”

“I, ah—”

Jules sprang up from the bed, sending more shockwaves through Micah’s bladder, and this time he couldn’t suppress a groan. This made Jules look absolutely delighted.

“Don’t you see how pretty he is, Luc?” Jules spoke near Luc’s ear but didn’t bother to whisper. “Watch how he looks when his muscles clench!”

“C’mon, Jules, I really just wanna get up,” Micah said as another wave of need rolled through him. He pulled at the ropes and felt his cock jump against his abdomen again. 

“ _ Hooooly shit,” _ Luc whispered. His eyes were unfocused, but the way he licked his lips was entirely Luc—no fallen angel to be seen. Jules laughed and rested his head against Luc’s shoulder. 

“Are you  _ getting off _ on this?” Micah asked, incredulous, before humming nasally through another surge of his muscles. “Jesus, can you just let me up now?”

Jules was still resolutely ignoring him. “Look at him, Luci. He’s been tied up all day, stuck here because  _ you _ put him here. Tied up in his own ropes. Totally at your mercy.” This time Luc couldn’t suppress a small moan of his own, and Micah thought he could see Luc getting hard in his jeans.  _ Jesus. _ Why were his friends so  _ fucked up? _ Jules was still talking. “Look at how hard he is. Do you think it’s the ropes, or the waiting? Or… maybe  _ Micah _ gets off on having to piss and not being able to.”

“Yeah,  _ right,” _ Micah scoffed, but he still heard Luc’s sharp intake of breath, and his dick reacted accordingly. Having to pee apparently didn’t override his body’s basic reaction to Lucian being turned on. Goddamn traitor body. The pleasure-pain of the ropes was mixing with the throb of his bladder and all of it was feeling pretty goddamn good with Luc and Jules looking over at him.

Jules turned back to Luc’s ear, and this time he _did_ whisper. Micah was caught between begging and staying resolutely silent for the rest of the week as Luc’s eyes rolled shut and his tongue darted over his lips again. Ah, fuck. He could almost wait another hour if he got to watch Luc look like that again.

Something Jules said must have unstuck Luc from the doorway, because he moved suddenly and convulsively towards Micah as if he couldn’t help himself. He stopped at the foot of the bed, fists clenched as if keeping himself from touching anything. “Micah—” His voice sounded rough and wrecked.

“Hey,” Micah said breathlessly. He felt his own fingernails biting into his palms above the loops of rope and it took all his effort not to writhe his hips back against the bed in search of some sort of relief. He knew it wouldn’t help, but god, it was hard not to. 

“Can I—touch you?” Luc’s face without any of Lucifer’s malice was so different. It wasn’t less, not at all, but it was softer. More vulnerable. Proof that Lucian Sharpe was as fragile as the rest of them, sometimes.  _ Oh, I have to fuckin’ piss. _

“God, fuck,  _ please.” _  That was dangerously close to begging. If Lucifer had been there, he’d have grabbed Micah’s need by the nape of the neck and hung it up to dry. Luc only sat down slowly on the edge of the bed and stroked his long fingers over the marked and friction-burned stripes on Micah’s wrists. Micah shivered, and an awful pang went through his bladder again. “Luc, please,  _ please. _ ”

He pulled at his wrist restraints 

“ _ Micah. _ ” There was that deep tone that Micah usually associated with Lucifer, but Luc’s eyes were clear and earnest. It didn’t bring Micah to his metaphorical knees any less. “Don’t. Move.”

“Okay, Luc,” Micah agreed, feeling that insidious buzz in his head that he had always assumed was just Lucifer fucking around in his brain. Maybe not. Maybe it was just good, old-fashioned sub-space. Wasn’t  _ that _ a thought. Luc was fixing Micah with a look of concentration. It was hot as fuck, but Micah wished he’d  _ hurry the fuck up. _

Rather than untie the rope, or even get up from the bed like a  _ fucking normal human being, _ Luc swung his stupid long fucking legs over Micah’s waist. Micah pressed his hips up despite himself, seeking friction from Luc, but the press of Luc’s weight on his bladder was enough to draw an embarrassing grunt from him. Julian snickered from where he was watching near the doorway, and Luc froze above Micah, wide eyes searching Micah’s drawn and anxious expression.

“C’mon, Luc,  _ please. _ ” Micah’s voice was a hoarse whisper. Luc’s eyes seemed glued to Micah’s lips, which Micah would appreciate at  _ literally any other time, _ but he could feel his thighs shaking under Luc’s with the tension against the ropes and effort of holding on. Luc finally made eye contact, and Micah felt the pull in his chest that was always there when Luc was this close to him.

Luc looked like he was about to answer for a second, but instead came down for a blistering kiss. Micah felt Luc’s whimper vibrate through his lips and blessed his stupid fucking cock for growing harder, which seemed to make it a tiny bit easier not to piss himself. He pulled away from the kiss, gasping. “Jesus, Luc, I have to pee, untie me and I’ll be right back and you can do whatever you want with me.”

“I think— stay.”

“ _ What?’ _

“Stay.” Luc kissed Micah’s jawline. “Hold it.”

“Luc—!”

“Hold it for us, Mickey,” Jules chimed in. He stood at the foot of Micah’s bed now, looking at him and Lucian appreciatively.

Luc untangled his legs from Micah’s hips and stood next to the bed again. He traced a finger down Micah’s chest to the swollen place on his stomach where his bladder bulged. Micah shuddered. Luc traced a couple lines down and across his abdomen, and Luc tried to focus on his breathing, on the hardness of his cock, on anything except Luc’s hands. Then Luc pressed firmly down, just above where the tip of Micah’s cock rested on his lower belly.

“Luc, fuck,  _ fuck!” _

“Gonna piss yourself, Micah?” Luc asked, and there was a flush rising up his neck and into his face. Jules hummed thoughtfully but said nothing. “You gonna lose it now after making it all day?”

Micah, trembling, only shook his head.  _ I have to piss, god, fuck, I have to piss. _

Luc moved his hand to Micah’s cock and ghosted his fingers over it, following the vein on the underside and stopping at the head to swipe across the pre-come that had been gathering there. Micah bucked his hips up, ankles pulling on the ropes, glad for any sensation that wasn’t  _ need need need _ . 

“You sure this isn’t turning you on, Micah?” Jules asked, still sounding thoughtful. He was standing behind Luc now, leaning up against him. “Being tied up in your own ropes?” Jules entwined his fingers with Luc’s and the two of them gripped Micah’s cock more firmly this time. 

“Oh, oh,  _ oh,” _ was all Micah could say, pressing upwards as hard as he could, but Jules kept Luc’s hand just out of bounds for decent fiction. Fucking asshole Antichrist.

“What about you, Luci?” Jules asked. He turned and tangled his hand into Luc’s blond hair, pulling him in for a messy, desperate kiss. “Seeing your boy all laid out like this? What gets you hotter—knowing you can make him come, or piss himself?” 

“Nnngghh.”

“See, that’s not an answer,” Jules continued. He palmed Luc’s cock roughly through his jeans and Luc shuddered. “What if you could only have one? You can let him go and then get off tonight, just like you do all the time… or you can make Mickey Mouse piss all over himself while you watch.” 

Luc didn’t answer at first, just glanced at Micah with lust-blown eyes, but Jules tightened his grip in Luc’s hair until Luc whined, and then pulled Luc down to his knees and forced him to turn and face Micah. From where he knelt, he had an eye-level view of Micah’s twitching cock resting on the convex swell of his stomach. Jules brought his free hand over Luc’s throat and squeezed, just enough that Luc’s breath caught. “Clock is ticking, Luci. I’m not sure our mouse can wait much longer. What do you want? His come in your mouth or to watch him wet himself?” When Luc didn’t answer, Jules grinned. “Don’t you think it’d be worth seeing? Micah fighting his own body until it won over him? Pushing through the pain of it until he couldn’t do it anymore, watching the relief on his face when it gives up on him?” Jules paused, raking his hand through Luc’s hair as Luc leaned loosely against his him, eyes still glued to Micah.

Micah caught another groan of pain and need in his teeth and tried not to let the spasm show on his face. He must have failed, though, because he felt Luc’s hot exhale on his hip and heard the small, needy sound that came with it.

“Come on, Luci,” Jules said sweetly. “Choose for me. Choose how Micah gets to end his day of captivity.” Luc muttered something. “Huh? What was that, Luc?” 

Jules’s grip on Luc’s throat tightened slightly, and Luc gasped, “I want—I want him to piss himself.” Jules called out triumphantly and released Luc’s neck as Micah moaned. 

“Luc, no, god—”

“Micah, fuck, you’re so fucking hot like this, tied up and waiting for me—” 

“Nngh, Luc, please, god, I have to piss so bad, just let me—”

Luc scrambled rather clumsily to his feet and Jules resumed his amused, observational stance near the doorway. Micah made a vague mental note to punch the smug smile off his face later. He dragged his eyes away from Jules and the unattainable doorway to freedom and back to Luc’s face. Micah was struck again by how different Luc looked without his hitchhiker, how much softer, and he thought maybe he could use that to his advantage. He let his pain and discomfort show on his face, hoping Lucian his friend—lover? Boyfriend? Whatever—would take less pleasure in it than Lucifer, the son of a bitch.

It was the wrong move. Micah saw Luc’s face flush and his eyes were all pupil and only a thin ring of color. 

“Shit, Micah, you look so damn good.”

“Luc, come on, man, I can’t—it hurts, please—”

“I know, Mic. But think of how  _ good _ it’ll feel when you let go, huh?” Luc bent over and kissed Micah fervently, and Micah strained to meet him, to focus on the feeling of Luc’s teeth on his lips and the gentle, absurd human thing that was warring noses with someone while you made out, instead of thinking of the long, sharp pain in his stomach. But then Luc brought his hand between Micah’s straining cock and his stomach, and pressed down.

Micah keened and tried in vain to squirm away from Luc’s hand. For a second he thought he’d lost, that the piss that felt like it was halfway down his cock already had spilled out embarrassingly over Luc’s hand, but miraculously he managed to hold back. His legs shook uncontrollably, and he was losing feeling in his fingers as he pulled against the ropes at his wrists.

“Lu-u-uc,” he stuttered. “F-fuck, please, please, I gotta go, please, please.”

Luc didn’t answer, only wrapped his hand around Micah’s cock and squeezed. God, that was wonderful. Micah thrust into Luc’s fist, grateful for anything other than the thrumming desperation threaded through him. 

“I think you like this, Micah,” Luc said, his voice soft and awestruck. 

“Fuck  _ off _ —nnngh!” The rest of Micah’s protest was lost as Luc swept his thumb over Micah’s slit again. Micah lost himself in the pressure of Luc’s hand, the heat of it, until another surge of need tore through him and he gasped, scrabbling for control, a soft litany falling from his lips. “No, no, no, no…”

He gained control of it, but it took a few seconds, and he felt a hot jet of piss leak from his cock. It flowed down over Luc’s hand and pooled on his own stomach. Micah arched his back against the ropes and a sob tumbled out of him.

Luc was on his knees again, hand still stroking Micah’s cock, his mouth against Micah’s ear. “Holy shit. Jesus, Micah. I wish you could see how hard I am. Look what you’re doing to us.” Micah shakily followed Luc’s gaze to Julian, now leaning against the closed door. He’d stripped his shirt off and had the fly of his jeans unbuttoned so he could reach into his boxers and stroke his own hardening cock, and he was watching Luc and Micah with a hungry look on his face.  _ Stupid fucking antichrist orchestrated the whole thing, _ Micah thought, but the thought was quickly derailed by Luc’s hand pressing on his bladder again.

“How long do you think you can hold it like this, Micah?”

“Luc, please, fuck, I gotta piss, please—”

“What do  _ you  _ want more, Mickey?” Jules chimed in breathlessly from his spot by the door. “You wanna get off? Or do you wanna get up and piss?”

Micah’s breath came fast and hard, but there was nothing he could do to stop the next short leak as Luc’s hand pressed down on him. It flowed down the shaft of his cock, over Luc’s delicate fingers, and down the sharp planes of his hip bones. He hummed constantly in the back of his throat, eyes clenched shut. Luc’s teeth were sharp and sudden on his neck.

“That’s not an answer,” Luc said.

“Fuck,  _ fuck— _ ”

“Choose, Micah. You only get one.” Luc let go of Micah’s cock then, though whether that was to force a decision or to strip out of his jeans and move to straddle Micah again, Micah wasn’t sure. Luc’s boxer-briefs, a medium grey, darkened quickly when they met the growing puddle on Micah’s abdomen, and yet Luc’s erection didn’t flag. Luc just ground  against him earnestly, the swollen head of his own erection peeking over the waistband until he bent awkwardly to pull his underwear off and toss them aside as well.

“Piss for us, Mickey Mouse,” Jules ground out, pumping his cock vigorously. “Let it out and I’ll let Luci get you off while you’re still tied up. Fuck you in your own ropes.  _ Fuck.” _

The sensations were overwhelming. The friction and heat of Luc’s cock, the bite of the rope around his wrists and ankles, the ragged tone of Jules’s voice as he flagged his dick leaning against Micah’s bedroom door, the knowledge that no matter what choice he made, Lucifer and Jules would find a way to hold it against him the next time they needed something— 

And then, before he’d even had a chance to choose, his body did it for him.

“No, no,  _ fuck!” _

It started much like the other leaks, but no matter how much Micah tried to squeeze his aching muscles, they didn’t help. He watched in horror and fascination as Luc’s hand and cock were splashed with pee. He thought Luc would recoil, disgusted, but instead Luc’s hips stuttered unevenly and one of his hands gripped the back of Micah’s neck.

“Oh, fuck, Micah,  _ yes, _ fucking piss on me,  _ Jesus Christ.”  _ He pulled his hips up so he could look at Micah’s cock, twitching with effort and pleasure, a hard and constant stream of piss arcing from its tip. A sob of relief tore itself from Micah’s throat; then another. 

“Fuck, Luc, fuck, oh God, I can’t—! I can’t stop, fuck, Luc, fuck—”

He could feel the warmth puddling around his hips and his ass but then Luc’s lips were on his and he felt  _ so good _ just letting go and he was rutting against Luc and listening to Jules jerk himself off with obscene, wet sounds from the lube he’d pulled from  _ who knew where _ .

It seemed like Micah pissed for ages as Luc ground down against him and slipped his slender hand around both of their cocks, squeezing and pumping them both together as Micah whimpered and fucked into Luc’s fist and let himself piss until there was nothing left. God, he’d never felt so good in his life. The wet heat of it only served to make it better, the searing relief sending matching pulses of heat up his spine and into a knot of desire under Luc’s slim hands. Luc seemed almost as desperate as Micah felt, small moans escaping his mouth. Micah registered footsteps on the hardwood, and then Jules’s hands were on their cocks also. He stood behind Luc, his other hand a warm and solid contrast against Luc’s blushing skin.

“I keep telling you,” he said, his voice breathy and low. “That you’ll feel so much  _ better _ if you just give in to what you need, Micah.”

“ _ Fuck. _ Jules.” 

Luc had withdrawn his hand now, head thrown back as Jules stroked them both, slow and deliberate. “No, that’s not the plan,” Jules said with a grin. “I think the plan is that Luc fucks  _ you, _ all wet and needy and tied up, and maybe  _ I _ fuck  _ Luc _ afterwards. How does that sound, lads hm?”

Luc’s wide eyes were on Micah’s again. “M, please, can I—?”

“You  _ better _ you fucking  _ tease, _ god, please, need you so bad.”

There was the familiar click-pop sound of a lube bottle and then Luc was taking it gratefully from Jules and slicking himself up. Micah stared at him, entranced. Luc’s face was tight with need and pleasure as he stroked himself, his hand slow and wet on his cock. Then he was adding more lube to his hand and hovering over Micah, eyebrow raised in question. 

“Don’t think piss counts as lube, Luc,” Micah said hoarsely, a perverse shiver running through him at the thought. “Better get me ready for you.”

The permission was what Luc was waiting for, apparently, because his fingers were on Micah then, cold and slick, pushing in and opening him up gentle and slow. Micah lost some coherency in his thoughts then, stopped being able to keep his timeline straight and orderly as Luc’s fingers stroked and probed him from the inside. He was never over that fact, that Luc was  _ inside him _ when they did this, and it sent another hot, rolling wave of pleasure through him. Micah Gallagher, weak human prophet with no magic and dreams as his only weapon, had Lucian Sharpe and goddamn fucking  _ Lucifer, _ light-bringer of God, inside him sometimes. He felt his cock dripping precome onto his already damp skin and then there was a hand in his hair, tilting his head back; and lips on his neck.

“You look good enough to eat, Micah,” Jules said between nips and kisses. “But I think maybe you need something in  _ your _ mouth.”

“Bite me,” Micah said, but there was no anger there. In response, Jules found a spot where Micah’s neck curved into his shoulder and sank his teeth in, firm and slow. The pain was solid and bright and Micah moaned through it, the focus of his body moving from Luc’s fingers to Jules’s mouth, to Jules’s tongue laving gently over the bruised skin as he pulled away. 

“You prove my point,” Jules said eventually, tips of two fingers brushing over Micah’s bottom lip. “You sound like you need something in your mouth, so you don’t feel like you have to hold up a conversation.” He glanced wickedly at Luc, who had stilled his hand. Micah whined in response, grinding towards Luc’s hand the best he could against his restraints. Then Jules’s fingers were in Micah’s mouth and Micah was sucking on them like they were air and he was drowning.

“ _ Good boy, _ ” Jules praised, and Micah felt the praise light up in his head like a road flare. He moaned against Jules’s fingers again and then Luc’s fingers were withdrawing from him, replaced by the press of his hard cock.

“Want me to fuck you, Micah?” Micah nodded, and Jules’s fingers pressed pleasantly onto his tongue. “Want me to fuck you against your ropes? Feel me bottom out in you while you’re trapped here?”

Luc took Micah’s nod as all the agreement he needed, and he pressed into Micah’s hole, hot and hard. He was slow the first time, pushing himself into Micah until he couldn’t anymore, and then pulling almost all the way out until Micah felt the head of Luc’s cock at the rim of him. Luc’s hand found Micah’s and tangled their fingers together, squeezing, and then he thrust into Micah for all he was worth.

Micah’s world turned into a collage of sensation—rope bit into his skin at every movement; Luc’s hand gripped his like a lifeline, like an anchor; Luc’s body slapped against his with every thrust; Jules’s fingers left his mouth to trace hot, wet trails down his abdomen until it wrapped around Micah’s cock. He was a pool of wet heat, flaring at every touch, threatening to spill out, to overflow—like the way he’d lost it, pissed himself and felt  _ so good _ — 

“I can’t—I’m gonna—!” Micah stammered.

“Gonna come for me, Micah?” Luc asked, voice unsteady as he thrust in a fast, steady rhythm. “God, look at you, you’re so goddamn beautiful covered in piss and sweat and precome. Make me filthy with you, fuck, wanna see you come as hard as you pissed yourself earlier, wanna see you that desperate for me, baby.  _ Fuck, _ Micah, you’re so good, you’re so fucking perfect—”

Micah’s orgasm ripped through him like a freight train. He saw red, then white, then nothing; only felt his body arch up under Jules’s hand and clench around Luc’s cock. He was keening, almost sobbing, fighting the restraints at the same time he blessed the pain they gave him, heightening everything. Dimly beneath the haze of pleasure and heat, he felt Luc’s hips stutter, and then heard Jules’s voice in a low growl: “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Fuck,  _ fuck—” _

“You’re orgasm is mine tonight, Luci, remember?”

“Yes, yes—”

It could have been minutes or hours later when Micah came back to himself. The first thing he noticed was that his wrists were untied. The second, that he was hovering a foot above his bed.

“What the fu—”

“ _ Hush,” _ Jules insisted. “It’s better than wet blankets and I’m  _ busy.” _ He gestured vaguely with one hand and Micah felt himself rock slightly, as if he was laying on a waterbed and Jules had pushed it. Fucking Antichrist magic. At least he had a good view.

Jules had Luc against the wall and was worshipping Luc’s neck and chest with his tongue and teeth. The hickeys bloomed red and obscene on Luc’s skin, a matched set to his flushed and leaking cock. Jules sucked a line of reddened skin from Luc’s clavicle to the top of the shock of blonde hair between his legs. Luc’s cock twitched hard enough to bop Jules in the chin, which made both of them laugh. Micah, still high on his own orgasm, thought he’d rarely heard anything as beautiful as both his lovers laughing.

Jules slipped Luc’s cock into his mouth without warning, and Luc moaned and sagged against the wall. He fucked into Jules’s mouth erratically, hands in his dark hair. Jules stroked his own cock as he knelt, moving in time with Luc’s thrusts. His hollowed cheeks were sharp and beautiful.

“Please, Jules, _nnngh,_ _please,_ I need—I need—”

Jules hummed his assent around Luc’s dick. Whether it was the vibration, the permission, or both, Luc went tumbling over the edge, hips snapping forward as he came in Jules’s mouth. Jules followed him, his strokes quickening until he was shooting off as well. When they’d both finished, Luc slid bonelessly down the wall and Jules flopped dramatically backwards until they both lay on the hardwood. Micah felt whatever was holding him up waver, and he clumsily scrambled off of it before it could vanish, and onto the floor, which was slick with lube and piss. 

“Ugh, can we move?” he asked, snagging a shirt off the back of his desk chair and swiping it awkwardly across his stomach and chest.

There was a sudden change in air pressure and the sense of his ears popping, as if on an airplane, and then they were all sprawled on the nest of blankets and pillows on the second floor that Jules called a bed. Jules, predictably, was in the center so Luc and Micah could both lavish him with affection. Micah rolled his eyes, took a final swipe with the dirty shirt, and tossed it aside.

“Ow?” Luc said, rubbing at the side of his head.

“You’ll get used to it,” Jules said. “‘S better than Micah’s bed right now.”

“True,” Luc agreed.

“Who’s fuckin’ fault is that?” Micah asked, and then he yawned widely. 

“Yours,” Jules said with a smirk. “Good?”

“ _ God, _ yes,” Micah said. He thought again of the torrent of piss he’d unleashed, and shivered.

“Would you… do it again?” Luc asked.

Micah flushed. “Uh. Maybe?”

“So yes,” Jules said.

“Only with you!” Micah protested, as if that meant something.

“Sweetheart,” Jules said with a grin. “You really think you’d do anything without us?”

_ No, _ Micah thought, curling himself against Jules’s side and reaching across his chest to find Luc’s arm.  _ No, it’s you guys ‘til the end. _

When he slept, for once, he did not dream.

 

**Author's Note:**

> listen just pretend you never read this okay?


End file.
